


the art of the game

by blessings



Category: Rookies - Morita Masanori & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Humor, feverish quarantine posting, i only know the manga, im losing my gourd, team as family specifically the kind where u bully each other gently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessings/pseuds/blessings
Summary: Mikoshiba buries his face in his hands. “I’m resigning as captain. That’s it. I can’t do this for another season.”Sekikawa just rolls his eyes. He resigns, like, once a week, so no one takes it too seriously anymore.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	the art of the game

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaAAAAAHHHHHHH 
> 
> [eric andre screaming let me in except it's let me out but im not going out because im not a dick like that]

The greatest day of Sekikawa’s high school career starts out boring as hell.

It was blazing on the field that morning, hot enough that the windows in 3-B are propped open. Sekikawa grabbed a prime seat with a breeze to wait out the break between practice and Modern Japanese, arriving early enough that some of the team is still hanging out in the clubroom and Kawato’s still taking a nap. They'll trickle in halfway through his opening speech on friendship or honor or whatever the hell he thinks about while he’s late and sprinting to class, just to give him the opportunity to scold them and act like a normal teacher for five minutes. It’s the new normal for their last year as his students -- Kawato can feel like he’s reformed them and the guys can pretend they still have reputations they need to protect, without disrespecting Kawato more than he deserves. 

But for now, it's just Sekikawa and Mikoshiba at their desks, counting down the seconds until Kawato bursts in with some integral part of his outfit missing. Or at least, Sekikawa is watching the clock. The heat’s got Mikoshiba way out of it, head bent over a piece of paper and scribbling furiously. 

Sekikawa sighs, glancing between the still-shut door and the way Mikoshiba has slightly angled his shoulders to hide whatever he’s working on so excitedly. Rolling his neck, he drops his feet off the desk in front of him and saunters over to Miko-chan. It’s too boring in here, and he’s clearly got something worth checking out.

Sekikawa tiptoes the last couple steps, winking at Touko when she glances up and receiving an eye roll in return. He peeks over Mikoshiba’s shoulder and is immediately, violently glad that he did.

“Is that _me_?” he asks gleefully, and probably kinda loudly judging by the way Mikoshiba jumps.

“Uh, no, nope. Nothing to see here,” Mikoshiba stammers, throwing a book over what Sekikawa knows is a drawing of a baseball diamond. With some additional flair, if he’s interpreting the glimpse he got correctly.

Sekikawa reclines with his arms behind his head, his most confident smirk on. He ignores the protests of whoever’s desk he’s leaning on. “Come on, Miko-chan. I looked pretty hot.”

Mikoshiba turns a dark shade of red and makes a high-pitched sound, kinda like a computer when Kawato tries to start it up.

“Get it? ‘Cause my hair looked like it was on fire, in that drawing you have.” Sekikawa’s hoping his smile and the terrible joke will be enough of a distraction that he could sneak a closer look, but Mikoshiba just slams both hands down over his book, brow furrowed in that super stubborn way that’s always been a lot more effective than swinging his fists. Sekikawa would respect that look more if he didn’t insist on using it to make him clean up after practice. 

He just smirks when he realizes neither of them have moved for a long moment. Mikoshiba’s headstrong, but Sekikawa’s always been quick on his feet. 

He snaps his gaze to the window. “Whoa! Is that a recruiter for Hanshin outside?”

“Wait, for re-- _Sekikawa no come back--_ ”

He tears down the hallway, paper cradled gently in his hands, Mikoshiba’s footsteps and shouts echoing after him. There’s no way he’ll catch up, but it’s cute that he’s trying. He makes it to the courtyard without running into any newbie teacher who thinks they can stop him and sets his sights on the clubroom door, knowing that there’ll be enough of the guys in there to get the story spread around the team by the end of the day. He hopes Akaboshi is there. He'd give anything to see his face.

Everyone twitches a little when he busts in, door slamming against the opposite wall, even though they’re not doing anything wrong this time. It’s some sorta ingrained reaction from Kawato not knowing how to fucking knock. Even Sekikawa flinches whenever he sees a shadow pass by the clubroom window.

He ignores the customary jeering to do a head count. Aniya, Wakana, Yufune, Okada -- no Akaboshi, but that's fine, he'll tell him what's wrong with his appearance during lunch. 

Aniya eyes the paper in his hands with interest. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, this?” Sekikawa says mysteriously, and then ducks when Yufune pulls off his cleat and hurls it at his head. “Hey, hey! Damn, at least learn how to aim, that’s why fuckin’ Megurogawa got that run off us last week--”

“Just show us the paper, Sekikawa,” Okada says, holding Yufune back by his jersey. 

“Fine, jeez,” Sekikawa mutters, checking his hair. He wakes up early to get it looking this good. Yufune would have to die if anything happened to it. “Can’t let a guy build up the excitement, I guess.”

Mikoshiba bursts in just as Sekikawa’s about to unfurl his sketch, making him flinch and drop it. “It has a purpose, I swear,” he pants. 

“Well, none of us have _seen it yet_ so who can say for sure?” Yufune says, throwing his hands up. 

“Shut up, just-- look!” Sekikawa gives up on the dramatic reveal and thrusts Mikoshiba’s drawing at him. 

Thing is, he knows that Mikoshiba was just sketching out everyone’s positions on the field for their next match, planning out Akaboshi and Aniya’s rotations and the best place to stick Hamanaka without throwing the whole game (the answer is in the stands, but Miko’s too nice about these things). He usually does it on the chalkboard in the clubroom with just their jersey numbers, or in the margins of the vice principal’s manual. But this time, the heat drove him above and beyond his usual stick figures on base.

Yufune is the first to laugh, causing Aniya to leap halfway onto his shoulder to get a look. Whatever he sees makes him yank the paper out of Yufune’s hands entirely and hold it up for everyone else. Mikoshiba’s pained, familiar sigh is the last distinguishable sound before the clubroom erupts into chaos. 

“L-look, look,” Sekikawa laughs breathlessly, tugging at the sheet and pointing at his favorite stick figure. “This one is me.”

“It looks like you’re on fire!”

“That’s what I said!”

“Why the fuck does _Imaoka_ look good?” Wakana asks. “You gave him boy band hair. He doesn’t have boy band hair.” 

“My wrist was warmed up by the time I got to him.” Mikoshiba shrugs. 

“He kinda has boy band hair,” Sekikawa says thoughtfully, resting an elbow on Mikoshiba’s shoulder. 

“He is not allowed to have boy band hair. Imaoka cannot have cooler hair than me,” Wakana says vehemently. 

Aniya snatches the paper back. “Is the one with all the squiggles me or Okada?”

“You,” Mikoshiba says resignedly.

“Okada looks like an octopus,” Sekikawa offers. “But in the drawing, he’s not that bad.”

“I have been nothing but nice to you,” Okada says, corner of his mouth twitching.

Aniya continues to examine Mikoshiba’s sketch, alternating between angling the paper and holding it up to the light. “Hmph,” he sniffs. “I look great. My hair really _is_ that luscious.”

Sekikawa boos him but Mikoshiba looks kinda pleased about the compliment.

“Go look in a fucking mirror if you like your own face that much. You’re hogging it.” Wakana yanks the drawing out of Aniya’s hands. “Who’s the guy in a bicycle helmet? Why’s he the catcher?”

“Oh _hell_ no.” Sekikawa grabs onto Mikoshiba’s shoulder for support. “Ohmy fucking god. This is too good. This is better than I expected.”

“Which one is me?” Yufune asks, standing on his toes to look over everyone’s heads. Mikoshiba just points to a detailed drawing of a cat on first base (Sekikawa thinks it looks kinda accurate, actually) and the team erupts into laughter again.

Mikoshiba buries his face in his hands. “I’m resigning as captain. That’s it. I can’t do this for another season.”

Sekikawa just rolls his eyes. He resigns, like, once a week, so no one takes it too seriously anymore.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Mikoshiba! What would we do without you?” Wakana says, barely holding back his giggling. “We’ll never last without -- _oh god_ , Hiratsuka looks like a brick, why is he even on the field-- without your artistic talent.”

He just sighs again under Sekikawa’s arm, but there’s a fond smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Before Sekikawa can draw attention to Mikoshiba’s genius use of a yellow highlighter to shade Hamanaka’s hair, the best possible thing happens. 

“What are you idiots up to? Don’t you know school’s started?” Akaboshi nudges the door out of his way with his foot, holding a soda in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. He slurps intrusively as the team turns to look at him with disgust.

“Did you ditch class to get food?” Yufune shrieks, pointing a shaking finger.

“Did you ditch class to sit in our clubroom and do nothing?” Akaboshi fires back. 

“Hrrrmmm,” Yufune says, shaking his fist in the air and losing the argument.

Sekikawa graciously accepts the drawing from Wakana, sharing a wide grin and a wink. Akaboshi’s eyes track the paper, and Sekikawa watches gleefully as he tries to feign disinterest for a couple seconds, putting on that stupid expression where he sticks out his lower lip but just looks like he’s about to cry. 

When he finally lunges for the paper, Sekikawa lets him have it. It’s what he deserves.

“What’s this? The lineup for our next game?” Akaboshi says, and it’s like, there’s nothing inherently rude about his question but Sekikawa feels disrespected anyway. Akaboshi squints harder at the sketch. “Okay, so. Which one is me?”

“That one in the top left corner,” Mikoshiba says, and Sekikawa lights up at the mischievous glint in his eyes. He can feel the room still as they collectively hold their breaths, waiting for Akaboshi’s reaction. 

He inhales deeply and shakes the paper with each word. “ _Why_ is my _head_ shaped like an _egg,_ asshole?” 

“Watch it!” Sekikawa scowls, snatching the drawing out of his hands before he wrinkles it. This is a team treasure. It’s going up under their Flutter poster.

Aniya grins mercilessly. “Have you seen your reflection recently?”

Sekikawa watches the resulting scuffle with a bored sense of detachment, not even flinching when they topple over the table. Nearly three years with this team will do that to a guy.

“Hey, watch the lucky ball,” Yufune warns, stepping neatly out of the way of Aniya’s thrown pitcher's glove.

Aniya’s about to end Akaboshi’s entire pitching career when the door slams open and Yufune screams, leaping into Okada’s arms and effectively ending the fight. Okada actually catches him, too, which is pretty sick. More evidence that outfielders are the greatest and Aniya sucks, in Sekikawa’s opinion.

“What are you all doing?! _”_ Kawato stands silhouetted in the doorway, breathing heavily, his disaster of a tie hanging over one shoulder. 

Sekikawa moves to put his cigarette out on instinct, then grits his teeth when he remembers he quit. _Damn Kawato._

“Class started ten minutes ago!” he continues, entirely too loudly for the size of the room he’s in, as is typical.

The team looks at each other. Sekikawa watches a full three rounds of mental rock-paper-scissors go down before Mikoshiba steps forward bravely. “The...the class that you teach, sir?”

Kawato opens his mouth, one finger raised and nostrils flared. He blinks and shuts it, deflating immediately. “Aw, now we’re all going to be fired.”

“Again,” Akaboshi contributes.

“He _quit_ ,” Mikoshiba snaps defensively, on instinct, as does Aniya and, surprisingly, Sekikawa himself. He grits his teeth again at Wakana’s raised eyebrows. _Damn Kawato._

“What are you all yelling about anyway?” Kawato asks, not noticing the paper held tenderly in Sekikawa’s hands, but sure, why would he, his fucking shirt is inside-out again. 

“Just the line-up for our next game. Mikoshiba put it together,” Okada offers innocently, but Sekikawa’s got his number, that guy likes watching them lose their shit more than anyone else. He gives him a thumbs-up as Kawato brightens immediately and takes the drawing. Outfielders fucking rule.

Mikoshiba tries to make a break for it but Sekikawa has him in a (very gentle, very respectful) headlock. Kawato’s eyes start to water, which was one of the things Sekikawa expected could happen but is disappointed to see.

“I think we should hang it up,” Kawato says tearfully, and Sekikawa sighs, thinking that next year’s team is going to need a replacement clubroom if these idiots keep knocking furniture over every time they laugh at Kawato.

There’s really nothing better than this -- Miko-chan crying happily, Akaboshi looking pissed off after Aniya eats all his chips in spite, watching the principal threaten Kawato with unemployment for the third time that week. This is the shit that high school memories are made of.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this in january 2018
> 
> i have like. serious stories that i’m working on, i swear [blessings.carrd.co](https://blessings.carrd.co/)


End file.
